Even Freedom has a Price
by Blithe Novelties
Summary: Alfred is a nineteen year old militiaman in the American Revolution. Throughout the war, he mantains an optimistic attitude that the colonists will win their freedom. However, he's soon to find out that even freedom has a price. AU. Human names used


**AN: In my US History class we're finishing up learning about the American Revolution and ince I can't seem to be writing my murder mystery fanfiction, but I still wanted to write...I wrote this AU. The only other thing I have to mention is that the ink in the tea bit came from the movie "The Patriot" which we had to watch in the class.**

_**Hetalia**_**-Hidekaz Himaruya  
><strong>_**The Patriot**_**-Rightful Owner(s)  
>Washington, Cornwallis, and King George-themselves<strong>

APH: Even Freedom has a Price:

He was in the prime of his life, barely nineteen, and already flung into the harsh reality of war. While he should be working on making a name for himself or ensnaring some young lady's heart and, father allowing, starting a courtship that would only lead into the joining of the two hearts in holy matrimony. Not off fighting in some war against one of the greatest armies in the world, a battle which he and his fellow militiamen were bound to lose. But the lure of freedom, the thought that the American colonists could slip away from the grasp of the tyrant king and live without worry of taxes made up thousands of miles away overwhelmed his mind, leaving room for little else.

Alfred, while his childish nature could grate the nerves of anyone who fought beside him, had a certain charisma, a rare type of optimism that could raise anyone's moral during even the hardest of times. The blonde was nearly always humming some tune or other under his breath, laughing and shouting, and _always _proclaiming, "One more victory, and we'll be free!" He never seemed to run out of energy, and was eager to do anything to help his comrades at arms, even if it meant he'd go without boots during a march through ice and snow and risk losing his feet due to frostbite.

There was one thought, however, that continually plagued his mind when he fell asleep at night: what had become of his childhood friend-the slightly older, blonde haired, green eyed boy with the funny eyebrows (who had moved from England to the colonies when Alfred was only two)? He'd went back to London to finish up his schooling, and the last time Alfred had seen him was when he was boarding the ship that would take him across the ocean and back to Europe.

The teenager recalled that Arthur-as, that was the boy's name-had always chided him for acting so naive and childlike; he was _always_ trying to shove proper manners into his face in attempts the other would learn to be a "gentleman", though, despite his efforts, Alfred never became as gentlemanly as Arthur had hoped.

_Being a gentleman worked for him though…Artie was quite the charmer with the ladies! _ An amused grin found its way onto the colonist's face as he remembered the instances in which the Englishman had managed to woo some girl or another, back when they were younger, without even meaning to do so. His smile drooped into a frown, wondering if Arthur had stayed in London after finishing up his studies there or if he'd returned to the colonies. Had he gotten married? Did he have any children? Did he remember the boy who put ink in his tea once, staining his teeth black for several months?

_"Jones! _ You must stay alert-let no thought stray your attention from the matter at hand." It was the voice of the general that brought him from memories of old back to the reality that they were in the midst of war…not exactly the best place to let one's mind wander.

"Yes, sir-won't happen again…sir!" For good measure, he grinned, making a salute, in response earning chuckles from his fellow men and an exasperated look from his commanding officer.

XxX

_"Why don't you go, Jones? It's been over a year. You're free to leave any time you wish."_

_"I can't leave, sir. These men are like my family, my brothers, and if there's one thing I know, it's that family sticks together during the good times and the bad."_

_"You're willing to continue risking your life to disease and famine…to put your life in danger on the battle field and die long before your time?"_

_"If it means another man can live to see another day…if my dying helps the colonies gain the freedom we deserve, then yes, I'm willing. I've been doing it for a year, so what reason do I have to stop now?"_

XxX

The days were getting colder, clothes more worn, provisions running even lower than before, that even Alfred's spirits were beginning to run lower. He kept up his act though, hoping to keep the others upbeat and positive about the future, even if he was beginning to believe this war wasn't the greatest idea after all. The British troops were continuously overpowering them, forcing them to retreat or lose every last man. Perhaps General Washington was right…perhaps these men really _were_ inexperienced. It was no wonder the Americans were thought to lose this war. Nevertheless, his militia kept fighting, desperately hoping that what Alfred had said would be true…that all they needed was to win one more battle, and then they'd be free.

_Just one more victory…_

XxX

Though he was weary, about to nod off at the tree he was "stationed" behind, Alfred kept his blue eyes trained for any movement, any sign of British troops passing through; he had to be ready to attack at any moment, lest the Americans suffer another defeat. He didn't have to wait much longer, however, for soon the thundering of marching feet sounded, as well as the neighing of horses.

Careful as to not make a sound, he sneaked around the tree, gun at the ready and…_stopped._ Seated upon a horse, donned in the redcoat associated with King George's army, was what appeared to be a high ranking officer and, while Alfred had certainly never met him in battle, the man seemed familiar somehow; wanting to find out more about this "familiar stranger" without giving himself away, the young blonde slunk back into the shadows.

"…All right, men, listen up. As your newly appointed general…" Even the voice sounded familiar to him, and it made him irritated that he couldn't place to whom it belonged.

The man, seeming to have sensed that someone was hiding in wait, turned, his gaze resting a few feet within Alfred's hiding spot. It was then that the militiaman noticed that he had piercing green eyes, messy blonde hair tied back into a tail, and overly thick eyebrows. _Arthur…_A lump forming in his throat, his grip tightened on his gun. Not only had his old friend joined the war, but he'd joined the side Alfred was fighting against. He was a Loyalist. A redcoat. An _enemy._

Perhaps, though, he could let him go? Tell the others that the general outsmarted him and got away before he could attack?

"Who's there?" Arthur called out, jumping down from the saddle. "Come out now or be faced with treason." As he dared to venture closer, Alfred backed up, hoping to escape before he gave the other absolute certainty that there was someone hiding there. "I can hear your footsteps you know. My, you colonists are horrible at f-Alfred? Alfred F. Jones? Is that you?"

He'd been seen, and surely, would die…he would die at the hands of the man who had once been his best friend.

"Come now Alfred, lay the gun down. Perhaps I can convince Lord Cornwallis not to give you too horrible of a punishment-you must be punished you know, for joining the side of the Continentals…but if you come quietly, and tell us what we want to know, you might not have to die," the elder held out his hand, expecting Alfred to take it.

He didn't move.

Impatience seeped into his voice, _"Alfred."_

Arthur was asking too much for him. Give up without a fight? Tell the British the militia's battle plans-condemning the men and boys he'd fought beside to death…some who were even younger than himself? And for what? For punishment because he went against the king in this battle for freedom? Granted, Arthur said he'd try to convince Cornwallis not to kill him, but who was to say he'd keep his word? The Arthur Kirkland he'd known in his childhood was long gone, replaced by one who'd likely kill him if given the chance.

"Alfred. I command you to drop your weapon."

Mind numb, his body acting of its own accord, he raised his gun, pointing it at the Englishman.

The other's eyes widened, startled, before narrowing into slits. "Alfred what the hell are you-"

…And pulled the trigger.


End file.
